


amarillo by morning

by DCG94



Series: Care and Keeping [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Gen, John Winchester Tries, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, Kid Sam Winchester, POV John Winchester, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCG94/pseuds/DCG94
Summary: October 21, 1985The house looks unassuming enough. It’s not quite the ass-end of nowhere, but it’s far enough away from town that hunters can pass through without disturbing the neighbors.John's been chasing dead end after dead end, dragging his boys across the country and back like luggage. For all he knows, this is another bad lead but he can't afford not to look.
Relationships: John Winchester & Original Characters
Series: Care and Keeping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616257
Kudos: 7





	amarillo by morning

**Author's Note:**

> I've been putting off posting this series for... years, but hey, if not now, when? It is unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes.
> 
> The Care and Keeping 'verse will span over several fandoms and several years, including (but not limited to) Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I have a couple of major, long fics planned and (mostly) written, but the bulk of the series will probably be one-shots throughout the years. 
> 
> John, Dean, and Sam Winchester belong to the CW; the Parker family are mine. 
> 
> Sam and Dean will feature pretty heavily, but the main character (who is introduced in this fic) will mostly steal the show.

_October 21, 1985_

  
Two years. It’s been two damn years since he heard his wife’s voice. Two years since he lost everything – two years since his boys lost their mother.

He’s still chasing shadows. He’s been on a few unrelated hunts, but nothing seems worth the distraction. All of this, the hunting on his downtime, the shitty handyman work, finding something remotely stable for his boys – it isn’t bringing him any closer to Mary’s killer. It’s pulling him farther away.

This lead has more promise than the others he’s followed, but he won’t get his hopes up. He _can’t_ get his hopes up. Not again.

The house looks unassuming enough. It’s not quite the ass-end of nowhere, but it’s far enough away from town that hunters can pass through without disturbing the neighbors.

A little girl’s bicycle leans against an older model Ram – probably a ’75 or ’76 – and a Golden Retriever snoozes in its shadow. Other than that, there are no signs of life coming from the house.

“Dean, stay in the car,” he says. “Watch your brother.”

Dean nods, but his attention is wholly captivated by the swing set off to the side. John sighs, opens the door, and makes his way up the walk. The dog looks up; John freezes. He knows better than to mess with dogs.

The two stare at each other for a few moments, but Fido apparently decides John isn’t a threat to his territory. He sniffs once, then pads over to the water bowl beside the porch. John recognizes permission to cross, so he proceeds to ring the doorbell.

As he waits, he looks around with a practiced eye. The garden is full of color, azalea and daffodils and rhododendrons, but also belladonna, wolfsbane, and verbena. When he turns back to the door, he notices what might be a Key of Solomon worked into the faded doormat. The handle looks like it’s made of silver, and the railing around the porch is wrought iron.

John has only seen a few places so well-equipped to deal with the supernatural, and none of them look so… well, homey. If Singer hadn’t told him about this place, he never would have guessed that a hunter lives here. In fact, in every way Bobby’s place is trashy, this house is charming,. But the same elements exist – this is a hunter’s house, no doubt.

-

Eventually the door opens, and a young brunette smiles out at him.

“John Winchester?” she asks. “I’m Alex Parker. Bobby mentioned you’d be stopping by.” She steps aside, implying an invitation but not vocalizing it. Smart girl.

“Good to meet you,” John replies. He steps over the threshold and looks around. There are Barbie dolls scattered throughout the living room, where some cartoon is playing for an audience of zero. The bike had hinted at a kid, but it’s still a surprise when a little girl skips into the room. She has a cookie in one hand and a juice box in the other, and she doesn’t pay John any mind at all. She goes right past him and plops down in front of her movie.

“My daughter, Lindy,” Alex says. “Forgive her rudeness; she’s used to strangers passing through.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Sure. Come on into the kitchen. I was just about to put a pie in the oven – are you hungry? We got plenty of food.”

“I’d rather get the information I need and get out of your hair. Got a few hunts lined up, I need to get them taken care of as soon as possible.”

Alex nods and leads the way into the kitchen.“You know what it is you’re hunting?” Her Texas drawl slurs some of her words, but the effect is sweet in a way he’s forgotten even exists.

“Not yet.”

“Victimology?”

“Only one, as far as I can tell. My… my wife.”

It’s bound to get out sooner or later, and as much as John hates the idea of strangers knowing his family business he knows the best way to find the sonuvabitch is to get people on the lookout. Anyway, he trusts Bobby and Bobby says this girl is good. So he tells her. Everything. He tells her about the fire, about seeing Mary pinned to the ceiling. About Sammy watching it happen, not knowing that his mother was dying right above him. Alex listens with growing concern. By the time he’s finished, he’s breathing hard and she’s got her hand over her mouth.

“I can’t imagine…” she says softly, using her free hand to cover his on the table. “John, I’m so sorry.”

“I need to get the bastard that did this. Whatever it was, I have to avenge her death.”

Alex closes her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

“The story sounds familiar,” she says. “I think I remember reading something similar, but I couldn’t tell you… hold on.” She disappears down the hallway, and John hears her rummaging through whatever boxes she keeps there. Before long, she returns with a battered file folder in her hands.

“This would have been… what, two years ago? Okay, here. Um, yeah. It was a house fire in… Saginaw, Michigan around November of ’83. Cause of the fire was… faulty wiring. It started in the nursery, but the baby survived. The mother, Linda Miller, did not.” Alex opens the binder and pulls out the clipping, passing it to John before moving on to the next article. “Same thing that December in Guthrie, Oklahoma; another in San Diego. Oh, here’s something… well, I’m not sure what it is, but I think it matches your story. Um, Gary Baker – the homeowner, the father of the little girl – says he witnessed his wife burning over his daughter’s crib. He was committed to a mental institute a few days later, after which he changed his story. He gave the little girl up for adoption and has refused to comment any further.”

John reads the clippings, hardly daring to hope. Finally, he's getting somewhere!

“Has anything happened since 1983?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed. I think the only reason it raised red flags at all was that an old acquaintance of my dad’s was involved. He thought there was something fishy about one of the mothers, but when the trail ran cold he shrugged it off. I never asked him what he was thinking, but maybe you can pick up the trail.”

“Mama! I’m goin’ to play on the swing!”

John turns to see Lindy standing at the entrance to the kitchen. She seems to notice John for the first time and grins. “Are you one of Mama’s friends? Mama and Granddaddy have a lot of friends.”

“Turn off your movie first, Lin,” Alex says. “Mr. Winchester and I are having grown-up talk.”

“’Kay. Bye, Mr. Winchester! I’m gonna go swing!”

“Carefully,” her mother calls after her. “Sorry about that. She hasn’t quite figured out the ‘no interrupting’ thing.”

“It’s fine,” John says, the kid already out of his mind. He straightens out the papers and continues to run through them.

“Mama!” Lindy zooms back into the room, eyes wide. “There’s two boys outside and they want to play with me on my swing and I said I have to ask you ‘cause no one’s allowed on without per-mish-un but they really want to and I said you would say yes so you have so say yes so we can play! Please, Mama? They said they never got on a tire swing before and he’s taller than me so he can swing both of us like you do! Please!”

“I’m assuming they’re your boys, John?” Alex asks with a smile.

“Sorry; I told them to stay in the car.”

“No, don’t worry about it. If it’s okay with you, they can play. We can go outside and talk while they swing.”

“So yes?” Lindy asks with a hopeful bounce. John nods and the kid fairly flies back outside.

He and Alex follow more slowly. Lindy’s gleeful shout filters back toward them, and as they walk out the door they see Dean helping Sammy out of the car. The dog stands and approaches the boys slowly.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lindy says when Dean backs up. “Toulouse just wants to say hi. You gotta hold your hand out, but be still. Like this.” She thrusts her hand under Toulouse’s nose. The dog wags his tail and flicks his tongue out.

“Don’t let him lick ya!” Dean exclaims.

“’s okay. It’s how he kisses! Now you try. See, he likes you!”

“I don’t want a dog kissin' me. That’s gross.” Dean throws his hands over his face as Toulouse searches for bare skin. When it becomes obvious that Dean’s a lost cause, the dog turns to Sammy. The toddler has none of his brother’s inhibitions; he grins and reaches for the dog.

“Doggie!” he cries. His eyes widen when he touches the dog’s well-groomed fur. “Soft!”

“No, silly,” Lindy giggles. “You have to let him smell you first.”

Alex and John watch for a few minutes as the kids play. He’s missed this – he hasn’t seen Dean this animated since before Mary died.

Eventually, though, he gets down to business. “Do you have any idea what may have done this?” he asks, indicating the papers.

“Dad thought it might be a demon,” Alex says. She checks the folder, frown back in place. “He never went out to investigate, though. He tried to pass the hunt along, but it’s not like it was terrorizing a single town. Made the thing hard to track. Since the incidents stopped he let it go, and then he had his heart attack…” Alex shifts uncomfortably, then shrugs. “Other things took precedence.” She passes the rest of the folder to him.

“No one’s followed up on this?” he asks, annoyed.

“Like I said, Daddy was the only one who noticed the pattern.”

“Why didn’t you take the hunt?”

Alex turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “I have a small daughter to raise,” she says. “I don’t take hunts unless I have a damn good reason to, and I’m sorry, but a string of dead mothers with no common denominator isn’t the kind of case I’d take anyway.” She stands, speaking over John as he opens his mouth to - well, he's not sure what he's going to say, but she doesn't let him say it. “I’m trying to help you now, but if you’re gonna get pissy with me I’d like my file back.”

John gapes, then glares at her as she watches him, hand outstretched.

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“No.”

She gazes steadily at him, daring her to call his bluff. It takes all of his willpower not to grab the files and drive away out of spite, but he’s still new to this world. He’s going to need all the help he can get on this case, and Alex Parker is the first real lead he’s found. He _really_ can’t afford to alienate her.

“Understood,” he grunts. Alex drops her hand and smiles, forgiven and forgotten.

Geez, what a woman.

“Daddy oughta be home soon,” she says. “His memory’s not what it used to be, so he may get confused, but if he knows anything I’m sure he’ll be happy to help. Until then, you’re welcome to get settled. We do keep a couple extra rooms ready for hunters who pass through. If you don't mind the work, there's always stuff that needs fixin’ around the place, especially now that Daddy can’t lift as much.”

It seems that’s settled, though John pretty specifically recalls declining her hospitality not thirty minutes before. He shakes his head, a little dazed.

What a woman, indeed.

-

-

Eventually an ancient yellow El Camino pulls up and a stout white-haired man gets out of the passenger seat.

“Granddaddy!” Lindy shouts, abandoning the boys in favor of running up to the man with her arms outstretched.

“Well if it isn’t my Lindy-bug!” Alex’s father bends over to scoop the little girl into his arms, throwing her over his shoulders and going in for a tickle attack. Lindy squeals, laughing as she kicks at the air.

“We got friends!” Lindy gasps when she’s had enough. Her grandfather settles her on his shoulders and finally takes stock of the rest of the group.

“Daddy, this is John Winchester, a friend of Bobby’s. John, my father Jonah Parker.”

“Any friend of Bobby’s is a friend of mine,” Jonah says good-naturedly, taking John’s outstretched hand in a firm grip. “Winchester, you say?”

“Yes, sir. The name mean something to you? Besides a gun.”

“I knew a girl, married a Winchester. You wouldn’t happen to know a Mary Campbell, would you?”

“Daddy,” Alex cuts in with a glance between John and her daughter. John wisely holds his tongue; he’d indeed been about to dive right into the case, but apparently Alex doesn’t like talking shop in front of her daughter. Fair enough. “Let’s go to the porch. John and I were wondering if you might help him with a case.”

“That alright with you, princess?” Jonah asks Lindy. Lindy grins and gives a big thumbs-up.

“I got friends to play with!”

Jonah sets her back on the ground, sending her off to play with a gentle push. When they’ve made their way up the steps, Jonah takes a seat before gesturing for John to do the same.

“I’ve gotta get that pie in,” Alex says. “Holler if you gentlemen need anything.”

“She’s too good to me,” Jonah sighs. “Lord knows she don’t hafta be. Married her ma when she was ten, and she never once looked at me different.” He shakes himself. “So, John. How’s little Mary? Haven’t seen her since she was a kid, but it looks like she did pretty well for herself.”

“Didn’t you put these files together?” John asks, moving his hand over the table.

“Probably,” Jonah replies. He leans forward to look over the case. “Don’t remember everything I ever… oh. Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, son, my memory ain’t too good these days. That’s right, I was lookin’ into little Mary’s death. It was my last case, never did find the damn thing.”

“How did you know Mary?”

“Knew her daddy. Old Samuel didn’t much trust other hunters, but he was a good man. Saved my hide a time or two. Didn’t deserve what happened to him, that’s for damn sure.”

“Wait – Samuel was a hunter?” John takes a step back, having to run the implications back through his head. “Samuel Campbell?”

“One of the best.” Jonah tilts his head and squints. “You didn’t know that? Kinda assumed that’s how you met Mary.”

“Mary _knew_ he was a hunter?”

“Girl was just as good as her daddy. Better, some might say. Not gonna lie to you, though, I was damned proud of her for gettin’ out. Shame she didn’t get to live her life.”

John feels behind him for the porch swing before dropping into it, feeling his world fall apart with the movement. Mary had known about the supernatural. She’d grown up with a hunter, had been one herself. Why hadn’t she told him?

Then the greater implications set in. He’s been working on the assumption that Mary’s death had been random, impersonal – but it easily could have been a hunt coming back to bite her.

His gut churns, making him wonder if he’ll actually be sick. That Mary had kept such an integral part of her past from him, that she hadn’t _trusted_ him with that – how is he supposed to move past this?

-

-

Jonah watches as John’s world shatters. He honestly hadn’t even considered the possibility that John wouldn’t know about his wife. The name Campbell is a pretty powerful one in hunter circles – hell, there’s a whole mess of ‘em scattered all over the country, all involved in the life. Samuel and Deanna’s deaths shook a lot of people.

For a while, their daughter had managed to keep her past where it was.

Until she was killed in a house fire.

It had been Mary’s death that drew Jonah to the case. House fires are common enough, but after her parents died in such mysterious, obviously supernatural circumstances, Jonah had been willing to at least consider the idea of a supernatural cause.

“Mary was a hunter…”

John seems unable to say anything else. Jonah sighs; this isn’t how he’d expected this meeting to go. He hadn’t connected Winchester to Mary Campbell because it’s been so long since he’s heard anything from the family; over ten years, even before her parents’ deaths.

“I know you have questions. I wish I had the answers, son, but I’m not the person to ask. I can’t tell you why she kept this from you.”

John slumps, a puppet with its strings cut.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. “I’ve been following leads for a year and a half. How come I haven’t heard of this before now?”

Jonah shrugs, idly wondering if Alex has kept the liquor cabinet stocked. He has a feeling they’ll need to break it open if John’s gonna get through this with some kind of sanity.

“The Campbells were pretty well-known,” he says, “they were good at what they did, but Samuel was a paranoid man. He didn’t work with other hunters and he didn’t share his findings, so it’s likely your contacts forgot him, especially if they didn’t know him personally.”

“Like you did?”

“Like I said, I was one of the few people he could tolerate working with. Hadn’t worked with him since before Alex’s ma died, but we’d kept up correspondence. Even took Alex to meet Mary once, though she probably doesn’t remember. Since I looked into Mary’s death specifically, I’ll warrant I was more familiar with the case than the rest of your contacts. You got my name from Singer, right?”

John nods absently, leaning forward to flip through the file.

“He’s a good person to have in your corner,” Jonah says. “Keep that bridge intact, if you can.”

John glances up at him, making a motion with his hand that says, _get to the point_.

“Anyway, there wasn’t much on the case. I know that it’s always involved mothers, and that the kids were all the same age when it happened – six months to the day. Other than that, there’s nothing connecting the cases. Different cities, different social classes, different religions. I dropped it when I couldn’t prove anything…” He points to one of the articles and continues, “Since Baker was the only one with a weird story, and he changed it a few months later, I chalked it up to coincidence and misfortune.”

John sighs, looking over the case files. Bless Alex and her attention to detail, she’s kept his files up and organized, but even still this one's emptier than he’d like.

“Take it,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Ain’t doin’ no one any good collecting dust in my office. And let me know if we can do anything to help. Alex has some good research tips, if you want, and she can probably put you in touch with some more help.”

“Thanks,” John breathes. “I… I will.”

Jonah sighs. “Stay the night, son,” he says. “Lindy looks like she’s already adopted your boys, and Alex makes one hell of a roast.”

-

-

Alex smiles at little Sammy, who is completely in love with Toulouse. The dog, for his part, seems equally enthralled, and they quickly become inseparable.

John’s ‘quick visit’ turns into an hours-long strategy meeting, and he and Dad lose track of time until the sun sets. Dinner is ready by the time they come up for air; Alex has John’s boys washed up and waiting for supper when the men emerge.

“Pot roast for dinner,” Alex says. “Hope everyone likes buttermilk potatoes.”

“What do we owe you for the meal?”

“This look like a diner to you? I don’t charge for feeding guests.”

John opens his mouth, looking very much like he wants to protest, but Alex raises an eyebrow and pointedly sets a heaping Power Rangers plate in front of Dean.

“If you eat all the veggies, I’ve got pie and ice cream waiting to be eaten,” she says. Dean wrinkles his nose at the roasted carrots and celery, but then the rest of the sentence sinks in and he starts eating in earnest. She sets Lindy’s princess plate in front of her and turns to John. “You and Daddy can fix your own plates. Sammy, is this enough?”

“More ‘taters!”

“Sammy, manners,” Dean mutters without heat.

“More ‘taters, please!”

“Let’s see you eat this much, then we’ll talk about more.”

Sammy ends up with a Lion King plate. (Lindy is nothing if not diverse in her interests.)

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Alex says. “We got an extra room with two twin beds, and I’m sure Lin would love the company.”

“We can show Dean my Betta fish, Mama!” Lindy pipes in helpfully. “And I like having friends on my swing set. And my trampoline!”

“You have a trampoline?” Dean asks, eyes wide. “Dad, can we stay?”

“I’ll even let you pay for the room, if that’ll make you feel better,” Alex says, fully intending to slip the money back into John’s pocket after she bugs him into giving her his laundry. Southern hospitality and all that.

Eventually John agrees.

-

-

They end up staying the whole week; Dean, Sammy, and Lindy are practically joined at the hip by the time John announces he has everything he needs.

“Any time a hunt brings you out to the heartland, you stop by,” Alex instructs. “We’re happy to take the boys off your hands for a few days.”

John grunts noncommittally, but a month later he calls and says he has a hunt in Oklahoma, and it might take a while; would Alex mind if he drops the boys off at the end of the week?

Alex just smiles and holds her hands out for the boys' things. It'll be good for Lindy to have some friends, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I can absolutely not promise any kind of updating schedule, though I'll try to keep it within a couple of weeks. Real Life isn't great at letting me post regularly.


End file.
